


fire on fire

by braithwaites



Series: the hounds of hades [4]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Smut, Semi-Public Sex, Tumblr Prompt, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 13:50:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17101793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braithwaites/pseuds/braithwaites
Summary: His touch fell heavily just below Madelaine’s waist, a groping grab that drew her attention away from the water in an instant. For what felt like hours, she’d watched fish nipping at the insects that skimmed along the water, sending tiny waves outward across the mirror-like surface of the lake. Her legs and back ached from standing, but those pains melted away when Dutch pulled her close to him.“I see you’re, ah... as plagued with sleepless nights as I am of late,” he murmured, his lips moving against her hair. “It’s a wicked cycle, what’s happened to us.”





	fire on fire

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was: " **You have no idea what you do to me.** "

His touch fell heavily just below Madelaine’s waist, a groping grab that drew her attention away from the water in an instant. For what felt like hours, she’d watched fish nipping at the insects that skimmed along the water, sending tiny waves outward across the mirror-like surface of the lake. Her legs and back ached from standing, but those pains melted away when Dutch pulled her close to him.  
  
“I see you’re, ah... as plagued with sleepless nights as I am of late,” he murmured, his lips moving against her hair. “It’s a wicked cycle, what’s happened to us.”  
  
Madelaine tipped her head back against his shoulder.  
  
“How d’you mean?”  
  
Her comfort with the gang manifested itself in strange ways. That night, it showed itself in how she was willing to step out of Dutch’s tent wearing her nightgown rather than her customary layers. The weather wasn’t as chilly out in Lemoyne; it felt more like home to her than what she left behind in Valentine.  
  
Dutch curled a hand into her thin gown, his fingers crawling over the fabric with the intent of bunching it in his palm. With every inch, the sticky summertime air clung to more and more of her skin.  
  
“I sleep better with you,” he said slowly, palming over her rib with his free hand before lifting it to her breast. Not much lay between the warmth of his hand and the fire of her skin. Dutch made a pleased sound in his throat when her chest rose to suck in a sudden breath. “If you don’t sleep, I find myself not sleeping, either. Would you say the same could be said for you?”

Madelaine shifted on her bare feet, blades of grass tickling at her ankles. Even with how muggy and warm the air was, the ground felt cool beneath her soles.  
  
She knew that Dutch never asked hypothetical questions unless he was leading into a joke or an argument. When he asked someone something, he already knew how they would respond. On anyone else, that would have been unappealing. But she enjoyed the fact that Dutch understood her and that conversations between them in moments like that were pretty, but ultimately unnecessary things.  
  
Madelaine shut her eyes against the bright light of the moon as Dutch’s hand sank farther downward, tucking beneath the raised fabric of her nightgown to tuck his fingers between her thighs.  
  
“I sleep betta with you,” she echoed. “And you’ve been coming to bed so late. I’ve already had my nightmare by the time you wanna get settled.”  
  
There was a moment then, when she _felt_ Dutch hesitate. He never hesitated when he knew the path he wanted to take or what he wanted to do. The man’s confidence seemed to be unbreakable.  
  
Understanding Dutch van der Linde was impossible in the grand scheme of things. There was no getting a full picture of him. So, Madelaine pieced together what she could from what she knew of him, what she saw of him, what she heard about him. Everything she’d learned since joining up with the gang out of Valentine made together an almost complete portrait of the man.  
  
Some things were missing. Others, faded or incomplete. But altogether, she could see him clearly enough in that understanding to know what to do.  
  
“I’ll get comfortable here,” Madelaine assured him, her soft thighs shifting around Dutch’s stalled fingers. They still ached from their ride to the new camp, but having him stroke them so helped things along. “I’m just still... recoverin’ from what happened in Valentine, I suppose. Nothing to concern yourself over.”  
  
That was enough for a time. Dutch tucked his head down into the curve of her neck and allowed his fingers their uphill climb.  
  
“Your distress isn’t worth this, but...” His fingertips brushed between her legs, over the dark hair there and between her lips. “You were a vision, standing out here by the lake. I do not _believe_ I’ve ever seen a woman look so beautiful.”  
  
Madelaine’s hands curled into fists at her sides. There was nothing to hold onto save for Dutch, and she didn’t want to subject him to her grip, not if it would dissuade him from what he clearly intended on doing. She let go of another sigh before rolling her tongue over her bottom lip, having felt her throat go dry in an instant.  
  
“Really?” she asked him, turning her head to press her face against his. His cheek twitched into a smile. He knew she was working him over. He knew she was handing him just what he wanted on purpose -- an opportunity to talk, to seduce, to make her swoon right at the edge of the water before dirt turned to mud. “That’s sweet of you.”  
  
Dutch’s laugh was strained as his middle and forefinger opened her up, baring her clit to the fresh air. “I wouldn’t call how I feel about you in this moment sweet, my dear,” he told her. “I know better than anyone how you taste and that ain’t sweet, either.”  
  
If she hadn’t already been growing increasingly slicker by the moment, hearing that would have done it.  
  
Madelaine gave a shudder, struggling to spread her thighs to allow him better access to herself without laying on her back or sitting down or doing _anything_ else that wasn’t just sitting. The balls of her feet pressed into the soft ground, trampling the sweet grass of early summer.  
  
“Dutch...”  
  
His name floated out of her mouth like something on the wind, but the air was still, stuffy and damp against her skin.  
  
“ **You have no idea what you do to me** ,” was Dutch’s huskily spoken response.  
  
His fingers fell away from between her legs. Before she could feel even the faintest brush of disappointment, she turned to watch him press those two fingers against his lips, wetting them with a generous amount of saliva. Seeing him sink his fingers into his mouth nearly knocked her legs out from under her. They were already tired, strained from the recent ride and days of hard work, but she stood firm, rooting her feet onto the ground.  
  
Their eyes met briefly. In the dark, his were black as shards of onyx, endlessly deep and shining as he stared at her.  
  
Madelaine couldn’t help but smile as the bubble of anticipation grew in her belly.  
  
“And you know just what you do to me.”  
  
Dutch chuckled as he drew his fingers out of his mouth and curled around her again. He was big enough to block her from the rest of the camp, no matter how broad her hips. Unless someone walked up to them without announcing their presence, she wouldn’t bee seen. They wouldn’t be caught. That was more comforting than watching light glitter across the lake.  
  
“Oh, I know what I’m _going_ to do to you,” he whispered, hitching her nightgown up over one of her hips and pinning it there with his body. With two hands free, he used one of them to part her lips and the other to do just as he planned. “Was that your meaning, Madelaine?”  
  
There was no protesting, no laughing, no eye-rolling. There was nothing but a thin gasp in the dark quiet of night as he rocked his fingertips around her clit.  
  
Dutch knew where to touch her when he wanted to take his time. He knew what to say when he wanted to draw out their love-making until the early hours of the morning. He knew, and that wasn’t what he did to her then.  
  
No, if she had to guess, he wanted nothing more than to wear her out, to exhaust her to the point where she couldn’t even keep her eyes open to ward off the dreams that wouldn’t find their way to her. She blew out her appreciation in something that was almost an exultant wheeze, her thighs trembling as he worked over her harder and faster than he ever had.  
  
One of Madelaine’s hands found refuge in his hair, coiling her fingers in tight against his scalp.  
  
There would be no moving, no pulling away. Not that teasing was something Dutch seemed at all interested in at that point.  
  
“Dutch,” Madelaine echoed, over and over again. _Dutch, Dutch, Dutch..._  
  
Each time his name passed her lips, it was thinner and thinner, until her voice broke entirely. She sucked in a sharp breath and opened her mouth and nothing came. So, instead, she let go of a hoarse moan that was no louder than the crackling of a campfire.  
  
“There you go.” Dutch was warmer than the air around her, but not quite as hot as the blood burning under her skin. Everything felt strange and perfect and overwhelming. No part of her felt untouched by him, as if his presence set her entire person on fire. His wrist snapped and his fingers sank into her, pushing a trail of pleasure straight up from her cunt. “There it is. You’ll come for me, won’t you?”  
  
Dutch always knew the answers to his questions before he even asked them. He knew, and he kept going, even when she couldn’t respond, switching between pushing his fingers deep inside of her and rutting their tips against her clit.  
  
Before long, even her moans were barely more than hitched breaths, struggling to get past the immense pleasure.  
  
When she came, the waning strength in Madelaine’s legs left them in a rush, leaving her knees to buckle. That moment stretched out longer than it should have, her stomach bobbing strangely as she felt herself plummet downward...  
  
... only to be caught by Dutch barring an arm around her waist.  
  
Madelaine wobbled uselessly on her feet, panting, clinging onto his wrist and elbow to keep herself aloft.  
  
“Don’t you worry now, Miss Madelaine.” Amusement tickled the back of his throat when he spoke. She could hear it in every word, as if a chuckle had stitched them together. “I’ve got you.”  
  
And that was the truth.  
  
Once he gained his bearings, Dutch smoothed her nightgown down over her legs before lifting her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing. That was how she felt, anyway, with her heart racing and her stomach still doing flips. She bowed her head into his neck and curled an arm around his broad shoulders.  
  
“You must be tired,” Madelaine whispered against his pulse, her voice hoarse. She couldn’t tell if it quickened or not, but she hoped it did. “If you came down to the lake to get me back in your bed rather than just staying up.”  
  
Dutch hefted her higher up in his arms before ducking to enter his tent. The front of it was already cinched shut against the light of the dying fire, though it still cast a seam of orange light against the canvas walls through the sliver of space between the tent’s fabric doors.  
  
When he set her down onto her feet, close enough to the cot that she didn’t have to worry about falling over, he laced the back doors shut, too. Privacy at times of rest meant more to Dutch than he’d ever willingly admit.  
  
“You’re right,” he said without turning around to face her as he began unbuttoning his vest. “Do you think that was selfish of me? That _this_ is?”  
  
Madelaine sat down on the edge of the cot, hand rubbing over her chest as she finished catching her breath. Staring up at Dutch, she watched as he removed his vest and tugged off both shoes, folding the fabric and setting his boots down neatly beside the chest that carried the rest of his clothes.  
  
“Selfish?” she asked. “You said it was a cycle, no?”  
  
Dutch’s hands slowed over the button at the top of his trousers. He took a half-step, turning in her direction just far enough to meet her eyes. His brow tipped upward in question.  
  
“I’ve taken to needing you for sleep, like you need me,” Madelaine said, reaching out to brush her fingertips over the soft skin on the back of his hand. “If we sleep better together, how could that be selfish? Unless we both are.”  
  
Something softened in his face. The wrinkle in his forehead eased, and he lifted his hand to press against her cupped palm.  
  
“We are both selfish people, Madelaine.”  
  
She laughed, the skin around her eyes creasing. “Selfish, _tired_ people.”


End file.
